


fall apart twice a day

by timelxdy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, a touch of angst, happy ending!, thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxdy/pseuds/timelxdy
Summary: Outside the warmth, safety and security of the blue police box, early evening has transitioned to night, and the Doctor is still working, blissfully unaware of the passing minutes and hours.





	fall apart twice a day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iceprinceofbelair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/gifts).



It’s a cold Sunday evening when the thrum and rumble of the TARDIS echoes through Yasmin’s snow-dusted estate. The ship has parked in its usual spot, overshadowed by the tricolour building which inhabits one of its guests.  

A fresh layer of snow crunches under the feet of those who pass by, heading into the centre of town for last minute gifts and festive parties.  

Christmas is the Doctor’s favourite season, so she’s paused before her next trip to stop off and pay one of her best friends a visit. She's tinkering; intermittently whistling and humming a catchy festive tune to herself while she updates the system’s custard cream dispenser. It's been acting up recently, so she’s determined to fix it while she has time to waste. Yaz shouldn’t take too much longer to notice her presence.  

At least, she doesn’t usually.  

Outside the warmth, safety and security of the blue police box, early evening has transitioned to night, and the Doctor is still working, blissfully unaware of the passing minutes and hours.  

It takes a total of two hours, thirty-two minutes and thirteen seconds before the blonde’s head pops up from beneath the console to peer over its components at the double doors, to find... quiet. Not the nice kind, either; the eerie, ‘something’s -definitely-wrong' kind. She straightens up and glances quizzically towards the main crystal pillar.  

“Can you feel that too?”  

She earns a faint, high-pitched hum of concern from her ship, which has recently taken quite the liking to Yaz. A lever to her right flips down, nudging the Time Lord in the direction of the doors. She takes this as a sign, hopping down the steps and out of the doors in a flash of coattails and blonde locks.  

The cold hits her like a wall, forcing her to scoop a scarf from the depths of her coat pockets and curl it loosely around her neck. It’s bitter and dry out, weathered boots sounding against the floor as she heads up, and up, and up to the Khan family flat.  

She doesn’t get far, however, until a familiar face comes barreling into her form just shy of her front door. She’s on her phone, speaking rapidly to whoever is on the other end of the line. They both stumble slightly from the impact.  

“Wait- Yaz’s mum?” 

“Doctor!” 

“That’s me. Have you seen Yaz, by any chance? I’ve been here for quite a while. Maybe she didn’t notice?” 

The other woman’s lips curl downwards, something akin to fear flashing through her eyes.  

“I’ve just come off the phone to her boss. She’s been in an incident, Doctor.” 

The blonde’s features set in shocked disbelief – strong, brave, kind Yasmin Khan getting hurt at work? That can’t be. Her lips part and her hearts begin to ache and pound in her chest, the sound echoing in hyper-sensitive ears.  

Najia can sense the worry on her features as though they’re a mirror of her own.  

“What happened to her?” 

“I couldn’t take much in, but apparently she was caught in the crossfire during a drunken brawl. She’s on her way to the hospital.” Her voice falters on the last statement, lips quivering ever so slightly while her hands fiddle nervously with her keys.  

“Can I come?” 

“Do you want to come?” 

Their queries overlap, leaving them both nodding in affirmation before Najia begins to lead the way. She doesn’t miss the look the Doctor casts towards the leftover spiderwebs clinging to the terrace outside. 

On their way to the car, the Doctor speeds up, unwilling to spend any more time away from her best friend-turned-s _omething else entirely_ when she’s potentially seriously hurt. 

“What kind of injuries did they mention? Who did it? Why were they fighting?” Are just a number of questions she probes at her on their way, which only work to fuel Najia’s concern further. 

Once she notices the crease above the dark-haired woman’s brow and the downturn of her lips, she pauses, instead tentatively reaching out to touch a hand to her own.  

“She’ll be okay, though. She's Yaz. You’re Yaz’s mum. S'amazin’.” Somehow, Najia can’t find it in herself to correct the other woman, especially when the look gracing her features is so affectionate and warm when she talks of her daughter.  

At times like this, the relationship between Yaz and the Doctor is all blurred lines and brand new, crisp white paper, waiting to be scrawled on. The Time Lord can sense it, stealing her emotions and feelings and everything in between to the dust at the back of her mind.  

They pull up outside the hospital less than five minutes later, but to both women it feels like  _years._ The Doctor is the first to exit, slipping outside with the grace of a baby deer and following in a slow jog towards the accident and emergency department.  

“Yasmin Khan, please? I’m her mother.” Najia all but runs to the desk, greeting the receptionist with a look which can only be described as familiarity.  

The Doctor learns, all at once, that the reason Najia is surprisingly more collected than herself, is because she’s been in this position before. Or rather, Yaz has been hurt like this in the past. More than once, it seems. 

The realisation encourages a fresh wave of worry, and the look she shares with Najia once they’ve been told to wait in another room answers the question hidden in deep blue eyes.  

“How many times in the last year, Najia?” 

“Too many.” 

The Doctor is fidgety and out of place while they wait, fiddling with her sonic first, then toying with her sleeves. After some observation on Najia’s part, she eventually slides over a children’s coloring book and a set of crayons. The strange blonde her daughter is infatuated with had been eyeing the objects with subtle interest for the last ten minutes.  

By the time they’re called in to see Yaz, the Doctor has completed three consecutive pictures of dogs in formal attire, the neatness and clarity surprising Najia the most. She folds the paper as delicately as possible and tucks it into her pocket, along with her favourite crayons, then follows.  

Neither of the women are prepared for the sight of Yasmin Khan, stong and determined and happy, looking vulnerable and fragile in the thin sheets of a hospital bed. She's awake, chocolate eyes brightening somewhat upon their entrance. There's a wound on her temple which rises over an impressive bump, but apart from seeming a little pale, her perfect features are undamaged.  

“Yaz!” The Doctor all but skids to the side not currently occupied by Najia, who’s listening intently to a quick briefing from the nurse. She notices the way Yaz flinches slightly, so she lowers her volume.  

“Oh,  _Yaz_ _.”_  

 _“_ Doctor? What are you doing here?” It’s such a relief to hear her speak that the Time Lord momentarily just gazes at her, sinking into the chair at her side and reaching out for her hand. Friends do that, right? 

“... I dropped by your place to give you a Christmas present, but, when you didn’t turn up, I got worried. I never realised your job was so dangerous, Yaz. Who did this?” There’s such concern and genuine distress in the Doctor’s words that Yaz’s heart almost bursts from her ribcage, so she settles for squeezing her hand instead. 

“It was an accident, I promise. Two drunk blokes were fightin’ outside a pub, I tried to break it up, then this happened. I must’ve just been standing in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Can’t be helped sometimes, okay? I’m fine, they said I can go home tomorrow if I'm well enough.” 

The Doctor still doesn’t seem particularly comforted, glancing over the wound on her temple in genuine interest while Najia slips into the seat opposite to join them.  

After a stern scolding from her mother, Yaz is back to her usual form, smiling and chatting back and reassuringly warm between her fingers. Their hands are linked throughout the evening, apart from occasional coffee breaks.  

Najia learns that the Doctor takes thirteen scoops of sugar with her coffee, after the simple mistake of mis-matched coffee cups, which leads to a lengthy discussion about her health. She brushes it off, in jest, and Yaz feels affection flood her chest when she sees how well they’re getting on.  

When the nurse returns well into the evening, he bares good news.  

“The concussion didn’t cause any major damage, and the damage to your ankle is a simple sprain. You should be up and out of here tomorrow morning.” 

There's a collective sigh of relief from all three women, and the Doctor gives Yaz a grin so bright it could birth a whole new constellation.  

She thinks it probably might have, once upon a time. 

“Well, I'd better head home. Sonya's already giving me hassle. You'd think seeing her sister in hospital would be her top priority, right? It's less likely than you think, unfortunately.” Najia leans in to brush a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, giving her a warm, albeit fatigued smile when she steps back. 

“Will you be needing a lift back, Doctor? You're welcome to.” 

The blonde falters, glancing between Yaz and her mother a few times before her gaze drops to their entwined hands.  

“I think I'll stay for a little longer, if that’s alright? It was nice seeing you again, Yaz’s mum.” 

“It’s Najia, Doctor. Goodnight, you two. I'll be back tomorrow morning, alright?” 

“Alright. Goodnight, mum. Please, drive safe.” Yaz chides, lips curling upwards when her mother gives a little wave. 

“She’s great, your mum. Amazin'.” The Doctor grins, her enthusiastic wave in return almost toppling her off her chair.  

Yaz blinks back sleep, her hold loosening slightly in the Doctor’s own. Suddenly, she remembers what brought her there in the first place, eyeing the blonde suspiciously. 

“Wait - did you say you were stopping by to give me a Christmas present?” 

“Oh! Thanks for reminding me, Yaz. I knew I'd forgotten something.” She begins digging through her pockets with her free hand, lines appearing over the curve of her brows when she scrunches her nose in concentration. She fishes out a small metal object, its silver coating catching the light.  

Yaz tilts her head like a curious puppy, leaning forward slightly to peek into her palm.  

It’s a key. A silver key engraved with ‘YK’ and connected to a delicate chain. She settles it into Yasmin’s open palm and raises it to her lips, pressing a delicate kiss there.  

“So you don’t have to keep waiting for it to open for you. Use it wisely.” 

Yasmin manages to dial back her shock, her lips spreading into the most grateful, sleepiest grin the Time Lord has received in centuries.  

“Thank you. Thank you so much. Are y’sure?” 

“Of course I'm sure! You, Yasmin Khan, are brilliant. I don’t know what I'd do without you.” There’s a hidden warning behind her words, despite the fact she’s decided to  _very distractingly_ toy with the tips of her fingers, gaze set and focused on her palm in a way she can’t explain.  

The dark-haired woman can’t hide her yawn this time, settling back against the sheets with a sigh. The Doctor reaches back into her pocket to dim the lights with her sonic, but, instead, draws free a stray crayon.  

Somehow, it’s worth the fatigued giggle she earns from her companion.  

When she  _does_ manage to find her sonic, she dims the lights to accommodate her, then settles in her seat.  

“Get some sleep, Yaz. Big day tomorrow.” 

“Really? What’s happenin’?” 

“... Oh, I thought people just say that when they’re trying to make you sleep.” 

“You really are... unique, huh?” 

“I mean... most people just call me weird. Weird is cool, though. Weird is amazin’.” 

“Goodnight, Doctor.” 

“Goodnight, Yaz.” 

She watches, fondly, while Yasmin slowly begins to drift off. In her dreams, she feels a faint warmth in her palm, and the low, sizzling golden energy now slowly seeping through her veins, fixing anything amiss.  

In the morning, Yasmin’s as good as new, and one grand, intimidating Time Lord remains curled up and napping in the chair beside her. She doesn’t let her in on her actions; she wouldn’t dare.  

Potentially using up one regeneration is  _no loss_ compared to the possibility of losing Yasmin Khan.  

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!


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